“Fucking sensational.” He strokes my hair, running his fingers through the strands. “It’s everything I’ve dreamed about when I jerked off in the shower and thought of you.”

  I choke on a laugh. “Chase! You’re such a romantic.”

  “Tell me you’ve never done the same.”

  “Well, my anatomy is a little different, as you’ve just personally experienced. But yes. I might have possibly imagined you late at night when I was with Bob.”

  He sits bolt upright, with a look of outrage and astonishment. “What?”

  “Battery-operated boyfriend!” I splutter, sitting up too. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That’s what me and all the girls at work call it. I forget it’s not a universally used term.”

  “Jesus. I was just about to call up some people I know and arrange a hit on this Bob asshole.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet, in a totally psychotic way. Wait, you know people? What kind of people?”

  His face goes inscrutable and blank. “I said nothing and I know nothing.”

  Well. Now we’re sitting up, and we can’t hide out here forever. I’m warm with post-sex afterglow, but doubt is creeping in now too.

  I heave a reluctant sigh. “I have to get home soon, or people will talk.” And I stand up. He gets up too.

  “It’s Bitter End,” he points out. “They’ll talk anyway.”

  “You’re learning.”

  Minutes later, we’re both dressed, and the warm afterglow is cooling, leaving me with a strange sadness. Chase is the second man I’ve ever been with. I made Percy wait for two years before I gave it up to him—and that was because I was sure we were getting married. I’ve just complicated things enormously and my emotions are a tangled mess.

  Chase’s face softens. “What’s wrong?”

  “Where do we go from here, Chase?”

  He looks at me thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Things have changed between us. They can’t go back to the way they were, and I don’t want them to. Where do you want it to go?”

  I don’t look at him as I walk to the door.

  I want more of this. I want everything from you.

  I want you to tell me what you’re up to and I want it to be something that won’t make me hate you.

  A chill flows through me, making me shiver as we step into the night air. I just had sex with a man who’s not just my boss, but a liar. Or at the very least, a man who’s keeping a big and important secret from me.

  “I don’t know yet,” I admit, my voice gone somber and sad. “I think all we can do is take it day by day.” He reaches for my hand as we walk, but I quicken my pace and hug myself, staring off into the distance as we walk.

  Chapter Twelve

  Daisy

  Chase has a bunch of conference calls on Monday, which is a good thing because I’m afraid if we’re together in public, a giant flashing neon sign will appear in the sky and point down at us. “They had sex! They had sex! They had sex!” I need some time to calm down and get my feelings under control.

  Naomi doesn’t work at the salon on Mondays, so I arrange for her to meet Callie and me at the diner. I want us to plan our next move. Unfortunately, Grams hears Callie and me talking in hushed whispers, and she demands to know what we’re up to.

  When we refuse to tell her, she insists on tagging along with us. Not because she wants to keep us out of trouble; because she’s hoping we’ll include her. There’s no way I will, though. Mama would kill me if she knew what we were up to, and she’d kill me even deader if I included Gramma Mae. I’ll have to meet up with the girls again later once we figure out a way to shake Gramma.

  I am completely blown away by what happened between Chase and me last night, but I’m also an expert at compartmentalizing. It started after Daddy died. If I hadn’t found a way to wrap up my emotions and shove them in a box, I’d have been paralyzed with grief and anger.

  For now, I’m just building a wall around my feelings for Chase and focusing on what’s important. My family. My hometown. And planning out the detective club’s next move.

  “If I’m going to be seen hanging out with you in public, you will behave in a respectable fashion,” Callie says to Gramma Mae. “You were out of control at the wedding reception.”

  “Honey, you need to unbunch your drawers and learn how to let loose,” Gramma Mae says, shaking her head. “Which one of us has one foot in the grave, now? Because of the way you’re talking, anyone would think it’s you.”

  Callie sucks in her breath for an indignant retort. I hold up my hand. “Hey,” I say. “I understand. Whatever any of us say or do travels from one of the county to the other faster than a supersonic jet, and it always comes back on Mama. Just because we may not care what people think of us—and by ‘we’ I mean you, Gramma Mae—doesn’t mean Mama doesn’t care. We don’t want her to have to up the dosage on her meds, do we?”

  “Thank you,” Callie says in a wounded tone. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “You could tell me.” I give her a sidelong glance. “We don’t seem to talk any more. I know a lot of that’s on me. Talking on the phone is not the same as me being here.”

  “You barely even have time to talk,” she says. “You call and say hi like we’re one of your scheduled appointments, you spew out whatever anecdotes you’ve saved up for us, and you make the right noises when we tell you what’s happening here, and then it’s always ‘gottagoloveyoubye.’”

  “Ouch. I didn’t realize.” I blink hard. She just scored a direct hit. I had no idea I was being like that. I’m on such a frantic treadmill at the office, piled high with busywork that never feels like it’s done.

  “Well,” she shrugs, her tone softening, “You did come home for two whole weeks this time. And in fairness to you, you were very restrained at the wedding. I should have given you more credit for that, because I know it was hard for you. Let’s sit down and talk after lunch.”

  The tension in my gut loosens a little. I don’t even get too upset when Gramma Mae flips off a passing car; it’s the Robards, and Sissy Robard accused Gramma Mae of cheating at bingo once.

  Naomi is already seated at a table when we walk into the diner, and she has an enormous grin on her face.

  “Hey, Daisy!” Boone says as I shut the door behind us. He makes a big point of waving at me, holding up his hand for several seconds as he does so. It looks weird.

  For a minute I’m confused, then I remember Chase making up the nickname “Filthy Fingers.” Boone is afraid that Chase was talking about him. He’s showing me that he washed his hands. I almost feel guilty, but hey, an obsession with hand hygiene is not the worst thing for a diner owner to have. And I’m sure that he will get over it eventually. Maybe.

  Sheriff Buckley and one of his deputies, a new guy who looks like he’s related to the Red Holler Spillwells, are sitting at the counter. They wave at us, and I wave back as I sit down. Poor Sheriff Buckley. He took over when his predecessor dropped dead of a heart attack at age eighty, and now he has to deal with the daily ridiculousness that is Swampy Bottom County. They can be a real handful.

  I grab my spoon and whack Naomi on the arm. “You’ve got gossip. Spill,” I order her.

  “You’re going to love this so much. Remember how we hoped Savannah would have a lifetime of karma?” Naomi smirks as the waitress, Patience, brings our menus. Patience stands there waiting—not for our orders, of course, but for what comes next. A hush falls over the diner as all eyes turn to Naomi, even the sheriff’s. “I heard it from a very trusted source. Savannah and Percy’s honeymoon is over. They were at some mountain retreat, having sex outside in the bushes, and he ended up getting poison ivy on his ass so bad that he’s in the hospital today. They’re having to cancel the honeymoon and come home early.”

  “No!” Patience gasps.

  “Yes!” Gramma Mae crows.

  “Oh, come on. That’s just too perfect,” I protest. “Did that really happen?”

  “Swear on a stack of Bibles.”

  An enormous grin splits my face.

  We all start laughing. I’m howling. Tears run down my cheeks. The whole diner is looking at us. Patience is practically vibrating with impatience to take our orders, so she can start circulating the gossip.

  Gramma Mae is giggling to herself. “I’ll have a Mayor Mike, medium rare,” she tells Patience. Then she looks at me. “Poison assy,” she snickers, and I start laughing again.

  “I’ll have my usual,” I tell her.

  “I’ll have a Betti,” Callie says. That’s a broiled chicken breast. Betti, an ancient dowager now, was once a chorus girl in New York, and she is still very well-endowed.

  “Give me a Prosecutor,” Naomi says. Pamela shoots across the room like a greased pig at a hog wrestling contest, eager to spread the news.

  I hear a chair across the room scrape really loudly, and I realize Willadeene is sitting in a booth across the room with her husband Randolph and Mimi, Savannah’s bestie from college. The one who caught the bouquet. Oops.

  Willadeene always acts like she’s lowering herself coming to the diner, and yet she still does. They have a fancier restaurant in Sugar Hill which is much more her speed, but her husband owns the Savings and Loan on Main Street so she comes here to join him for lunch. I think the real reason she comes here so much, though, is that she’s always the wealthiest, best-dressed person in the room when she’s in Bitter End, and she’s the kind of person who needs that.

  They’re dressed to the nines, as always. Willadeene is wearing a two-piece pink Chanel suit and high heels, Randolph has a pocket square and chunky cufflinks, and Mimi’s wearing a Lily Pulitzer dress and lime-green stilettos.

  “Why is Mimi still here?” I ask Naomi, wiping tears from my face with a napkin.

  Naomi rolls her eyes. “Oh, Savannah got her a job at the car dealership. Mimi worships the ground Savannah walks on. Goes to the same tanning salon. Copies what she wears, how she talks. She asked us to do her hair and makeup just like Savannah’s. It’s pathetic.”

  “Just what this town needs,” Callie makes a face. “A Savannah clone. Because one of them isn’t bad enough.”

  I sneak a look across the room. Willadeene’s face is puckered in disapproval. I can see where Savannah gets her “butthole face” expression.

  We do our best not to make it too obvious that we’re laughing, we really do, but it’s hard. Every couple of minutes, my grandmother says “Poison assy” again, and Callie tries to look severe and disapproving, but even she can’t help herself.

  Finally, Willadeene appears to have had enough of this. Willadeene makes a big show of shoving her chair back and standing up, and Mimi quickly does the same. They stalk over to glare at us. Willadeene’s husband wisely hangs back, making a big show of very slowly pulling out his wallet.

  They stop by our table. I shove my chair back. My grandmother grips her cane, and she looks a little too hopeful.

  “Don’t start anything,” Callie hisses at her. “Mama will have a conniption!”

  Willadeene’s mouth curls up in a painful rictus of a smile. She flies into Charlotte to get her lips inflated every few months, and she also gets Botox. She can still frown, but with only half her forehead.

  “Daisy, the wedding’s over yet you’re still here.” Poisoned sugar drips from every word. “And that boyfriend of yours too. Doesn’t he have a real job? I hear he used to work for some hotel. Maybe Percy could find something for him to do at the car dealership.”

  “Willadeene, dear,” Gramma Mae coos, “love what you’ve done with your face.”

  Willadeene’s fake smile vanishes. “Anyway, I just wanted to say we’ve been so delighted to welcome Percy to our family.” She looks me right in the eye, her gaze narrow and mean. “And he surely dodged a bullet when he— Hey!” she squawks in outrage when my grandmother leaps to her feet and knocks over her coffee. It pours right into Willadeene’s purse.

  “Did you see what she did?” she howls to her husband, who’s shuffling quickly toward the front door. He freezes like a deer caught in the headlights.

  “Savannah said they were common,” Mimi simpers. “She said their china pattern is Tupperware.”

  Gramma Mae’s eyes flash dangerously. “Don’t you look down your nose job at me, you leatherized skeleton.”

  Mimi looks contemptuously at my grandmother. “Who let her off her leash?”

  “Careful,” my grandmother growls. “I’m not up to date on my rabies shots.” She snaps her dentures at Mimi. Mimi leaps back with a startled shriek, trips over her own heels, and falls on her butt.

  “You crazy old bitch!” Willadeene raises her hand to slap my grandmother.

  Oh no she didn’t. I haven’t gotten into an actual physical fight since high school, but nobody lays a hand on my Gramma.

  I lunge to my feet and jump on top of Willadeene. We crash to the ground, and Mimi, still lying on the ground, kicks me in the leg. Naomi grabs Mimi’s hair and pulls hard, and a blonde extension comes loose, which makes Mimi scream like she’s been shanked. My grandmother starts whacking everybody with her cane.

  “Ow! You got me!” I yell at my grandmother as Willadeene and I roll on the linoleum, furiously slapping each other.

  “Stop it! Stop it right now!” Callie tries to pull us apart, and Mimi swings at her. Naomi dumps her soda on Mimi’s head. The next thing I know, Sheriff Buckley and his deputy and Boone are diving into the fray and separating us.

  “They attacked us!” Willadeene wails. “All of them! They ganged up on us! They’re a criminal gang! Why aren’t you arresting them?”

  “I had a front-row seat, ma’am, and I’d say it was pretty mutual. In fact, you started the whole thing when you raised your hand to slap an old lady. Shame on you. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you all in for causing a public disturbance.”

  Two deputies race through the front door, panting and sweating in the heat. The sheriff’s office and the county jail are just down the street from us, unfortunately. I wonder if Sheriff Buckley called in for backup as soon as he saw Willadeene approach our table. Or maybe when he saw me and my family walk through the door.

  The next thing I know, we’re all being hustled out the front door. At least we’re not handcuffed. Mimi’s crying hysterically, black rivers of mascara pouring on her face. Willadeene is screaming, threatening, and yelling, “Call my lawyer!”

  I’m not sure who she’s shouting to; her husband has vanished. We’ve got quite an audience as we’re being marched down the street. People are pouring out of the shops, peering out of windows, slowing down in their cars … and, of course, everyone’s snapping pictures.

  We all get fingerprinted and photographed. This is kind of exciting—at least for me and Gramma Mae. Callie is near tears, and Naomi looks kind of nervous.

  “I should have known better than to think any of you could go without embarrassing Mama for a single solitary day.” Callie’s face flushes with anger.

  Argh. We can’t call a truce for one stinking afternoon. I’m getting pretty fed up with her schoolmarm lectures, but I hold my tongue.

  “I’ll never make it in the big house; I’m too pretty!” Naomi protests as we wipe the ink from our fingers with wet naps.

  “Eh. Make friends with the biggest, meanest felon you can find and she’ll protect you,” I shrug. “It always works on TV. Besides, you can do hair. That’s got to be a valuable prison skill. What do I have? There’s not much call for branding and marketing in the hoosegow.”

  “This isn’t funny, and I’m never speaking to any of you again as long as I live!” Callie stamps her foot.

  “Will you put that in writing?” I say hopefully.

  Apparently, the “no speaking” has already started because she presses her lips together, looks away, and taps her foot on the ground.

  “Do you want to be a Blood, or a Crip?” I ask Naomi, but I never get to find out her answer because the deputy opens the door that leads to the jail cells in the back and points.

  “Ladies,” he said.

  “I’ll see you at bingo, Barb!” Gramma Mae calls out to the woman who fingerprinted us.

  “Gramma, how do you know her? You’ve never been arrested before, have you?” I ask suspiciously.

  “As far as you know.”

  The deputy is smart enough not to put us in the same cell as Willadeene and Mimi. Unfortunately, there are only two cells for ladies, and they’re side by side. I know there are four for men; I know this because my civics class toured the county jail when I was in high school. Looks like the men in Bitter End get in trouble twice as often as the gals.

  I sit down on the bench as Callie paces.

  “Day one. I can barely remember what the sun feels like,” I intone in a mournful voice. “I miss the wind on my face. The taste of real coffee. Being able to shower without fearing for my life.”

  “The whole group of you are crazier than a bag of bedbugs. I’m going to sue you until you’re dead!” Willadeene screeches from her cell. “I’ll take that hotel from you and burn you to the ground!”

  I turn to give her a scornful look. “You violently assaulted a helpless old lady,” I scoff. “Let’s see you try to explain that in court.”

  “Helpless! That old bitch is about as helpless as— Ow!”

  My grandmother furiously pokes her walking stick through the bars and smacks Willadeene right in the boob. Willadeene screeches like a scalded hoot owl.

  “Ma’am, don’t make me come in there,” the deputy says to Gramma Mae. “Please. I mean it. My grandma quilts with you and I’m already in enough trouble with her for arresting you. If I have to confiscate your cane, I’ll never taste her pecan pie again.”

 

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